


Hornblower ficlets

by Lilliana_Writes



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: M/M, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 04:14:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliana_Writes/pseuds/Lilliana_Writes
Summary: This is to be a collection of short and unrelated works about Hornblower. Tags will be updated as new chapters are added. Suggestions are welcome.





	Hornblower ficlets

“I have dined well.” 

Hornblower leans back in his chair, idle fingers pulling at his neckcloth. It was a good meal, made better by wine and Bush’s company, which is more than tolerable on this pleasant night. He eyes him from across the table, noting his sorry pretense at savoring the last of the contents in his glass. That stirs him from his moment of contentment, and he clears his throat. 

“You truly cannot taste it?”

“No, sir.” Bush sets down the glass, looking faintly glum. They’ve had this discussion before, and of course the answer has not changed. “Not like others can, sir.”

“And blood from the chickens and pigs- that doesn’t satisfy you either?”

“Oh, no sir. I wouldn’t say that.” There’s confusion in his face, and perhaps a little hurt. These are cruel words to utter to a man who can savor but one substance on earth.

“They’re as satisfying as anything I can ask for, sir,” Bush continues. “I’m a strong as ever, and the sun doesn’t bother me sir, not anymore.”

“That is well,” Hornblower replies, and he pauses, but not for dramatic effect. He is considering, for the dozenth time since dinner began, if he truly wants to make this offer. It would be, if not exactly sacrifice, a considerable expense. It carried the risk of illness, or perhaps death. But Bush is an excellent officer and a dear friend, stolid and stalwart, brave and dutiful. Braver than Hornblower himself, he thinks, in a moment of bitterness. Bush deserves this, and Hornblower is capable of giving it, and that settles the matter. He clears his throat.

“The ship’s pigs serve you well, but you might enjoy something a trifle finer.” He loosens the knot of his neckcloth, and judging by Bush’s expression, the action is akin to waving chops before a dog. Bush’s eyes widen for an instant before he checks himself, going stiff in his chair.

“No, sir, I, can’t sir. 

“And why not?” He sets the cloth on the table and tries to put a cheerful note in his voice, “A bleeding does one much good, you know.”

Bush shakes his head and begins another round of protests, fixing his gaze on the table between them. Hornblower feels a surge of pity at his distress, and endeavors to put him at ease. He leans forward, so their foreheads nearly touch.

“I’m offering this, Bush. And I implore you to accept it.”

Bush says nothing, but a glance downward reveals that his hands are clinging to the edge of the table. He sees the emotions play across his face- disbelief, then pained restraint, and finally, something yielding and deferent.

 

“You...you will tell me when it’s enough, won’t you, sir?”

“Yes.”

Bush knows better than to openly question his captain’s fortitude, but his words are tinged with concern. His features grow pinched as he rises and takes a hesitant step.

“Go on, then. Drink up.”

“Very well sir.” He pauses, and then adds, “with pleasure.”

Whether Bush is deferring to his captain or to his own gruesome instincts, Hornblower does not know. He is only aware of Bush’s stooping form, his sturdy hands on his shoulders, and then a stinging in his flesh. It’s a strange sensation, not altogether pleasant, and for a moment, Hornblower is tense and squeamish. He grasps at Bush’s shoulders, almost without volition, and after a minute the discomfort subsides. Bush gives a noise of contentment, and Hornblower knows he was right to do this. He feels wretched in fact, for not offering it sooner. Denying him this is as absurd as denying the hands their daily tot of rum.

Hornblower rests his cheek against the side of Bush’s head. It’s unseemly of course, to be lapped at and embraced by one’s subordinate, Hornblower knows this, and yet he cannot bring himself to care. As much as this is a gift to Bush, Hornblower fancies it’s equally gratifying to him. This strange form of bloodletting renders him light and giddy, and a ludicrous grin spreads across his face. There’s an agreeable warmth where their skin touches, where Bush drains away Hornblower’s ever present sorrow. This sort of intimacy, Hornblower decides, surely surpasses that of lovers.

His thoughts are halted by a sharp pang in his head. He tries to stand, to loosen their embrace, but he's suddenly weak and ill. Hornblower gives a shudder. They have to stop.

“Belay that,” He mutters, but Bush doesn’t hear him. “Bush-.” His voice is sharper this time, as he tries to twist out of his hold. “William!”

It’s a moment or so before Bush rises. He steps back, dazed and licking blood from his mouth. Hornblower is too weak to stand, and with his reeling head, he can barely muster the strength to clear his throat and dismiss him. He’s sinking in his chair now, sliding steadily towards the deck, but Bush notices this just in time to steady him.   
Hornblower blinks a few times. Bush is asking him something, but for the love of god, what? He blinks again. He’s weightless for a moment, then lying on something soft. A hand cradles his cheek, and there are gentle fingers on his neck. He cannot quite tell when Bush’s figure fades from the side of his cot, but by morning he is gone, and it is Polwhele who shakes him awake, making no remark about his falling asleep fully dressed, or the telltale bandage wrapped round his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Greyskiesallclear for the prompt.


End file.
